one of the creaking wicker armchairs, and began to fan himself with his derby. Mother stood at the door, her arms crossed, ready to throw this intruder out; and I stood beside her, ready to help, if that was necessary. “So then, Missus,” the ward heeler began. “We got a telephone call from your Mr Kane, explaining your situation. Have I the right of it when I say you're an abandoned woman?”
I could feel my mother tense up beside me. “What business is that of yours?” she asked.
He explained that he represented the Third Ward, and that North Pearl Street was part of his turf. “You've been around to see the welfare people.” He swabbed his glistening forehead with his handkerchief as he consulted an official form that my mother had filled out the day before at the Aid to Dependent Children office. “You should have come directly to us, Missus. That's what we're here for. But no harm done. No harm done. Now I assume you're married to the man who abandoned you?”
“Now, just a goddamned min—”
“And I assume these fine children here are the legitimate product of that marriage... darlings that they are, the poor abandoned things.” He smiled at Anne-Marie, who had slipped into the other wicker armchair and was looking at him with frank and frowning solemnity, wondering how anybody could sweat so much on a chilly day.
“What are you trying to say?” Mother wanted to know. “Are you suggesting that my kids are—?”
“I'm not suggesting a thing, Missus. But if these are the children of a legitimate and documented marriage, and if you have definitely been abandoned—I don't mean just walked out on in a huff and maybe his lordship will be coming back in a few days—then the Ward could give you an emergency payment of ten dollars, five for each child, to tide you over until welfare people process your paperwork. It's just one of the little services the O'Conner brothers are happy to perform for those in need of a helping hand. You couldn't possibly give me a drink of water, could you, young fellow? It's purely burning up that I am. You see, Missus...” His voice dropped to a confidential timbre. “...I have this thyroid. It makes me hot and thirsty all the time. It's the cross I bear. Oh, and sonny? You'll run the tap until it's cold, won't you, fine young man that you are?”
By the time I returned with the water, the confrontational atmosphere had cleared and Mother was sitting on the edge of my daybed with Anne-Marie on her lap. Whatever mistrust she had felt for the ward heeler had turned towards Mr Kane for telling strangers her personal business.
“Well, you know, Missus, they're all a little nosy and pushy,” the ward heeler said. “It's in their born nature. But old Kane's heart is in the right place, and he's a Democrat to the bone. Which reminds me, Missus. You are a Democrat, aren't you?”
Like most of the poor of the Depression era, my mother idolized President Roosevelt, and would be a Democrat for the rest of her life, so the ward heeler didn't have to worry about that. In his smarmy, circumlocutory way, he made it clear without saying it in so many words that the help he was offering was from one good Democrat to another, and he shared with us the fact that 'the boys' always knew how everybody voted, though he was damned if he knew how they found out, crafty devils that they were. In the end, he wrote a little note on the back of a form my mother had filled out the day before (we later wondered how it had ended up in his hands) and he told us that our case would be processed by the end of the month, when we would receive our first welfare check. There would be no further appointments for my mother to keep, no papers to fill out, no queues to stand in, no documents to be shown. The power of the O'Conner political machine had swept all these inconveniences aside. But of course, we understood that that which had been so easily bestowed could be taken back without trace of its ever
I could feel my mother tense up beside me. “What business is that of yours?” she asked.
He explained that he represented the Third Ward, and that North Pearl Street was part of his turf. “You've been around to see the welfare people.” He swabbed his glistening forehead with his handkerchief as he consulted an official form that my mother had filled out the day before at the Aid to Dependent Children office. “You should have come directly to us, Missus. That's what we're here for. But no harm done. No harm done. Now I assume you're married to the man who abandoned you?”
“Now, just a goddamned min—”
“And I assume these fine children here are the legitimate product of that marriage... darlings that they are, the poor abandoned things.” He smiled at Anne-Marie, who had slipped into the other wicker armchair and was looking at him with frank and frowning solemnity, wondering how anybody could sweat so much on a chilly day.
“What are you trying to say?” Mother wanted to know. “Are you suggesting that my kids are—?”
“I'm not suggesting a thing, Missus. But if these are the children of a legitimate and documented marriage, and if you have definitely been abandoned—I don't mean just walked out on in a huff and maybe his lordship will be coming back in a few days—then the Ward could give you an emergency payment of ten dollars, five for each child, to tide you over until welfare people process your paperwork. It's just one of the little services the O'Conner brothers are happy to perform for those in need of a helping hand. You couldn't possibly give me a drink of water, could you, young fellow? It's purely burning up that I am. You see, Missus...” His voice dropped to a confidential timbre. “...I have this thyroid. It makes me hot and thirsty all the time. It's the cross I bear. Oh, and sonny? You'll run the tap until it's cold, won't you, fine young man that you are?”
By the time I returned with the water, the confrontational atmosphere had cleared and Mother was sitting on the edge of my daybed with Anne-Marie on her lap. Whatever mistrust she had felt for the ward heeler had turned towards Mr Kane for telling strangers her personal business.
“Well, you know, Missus, they're all a little nosy and pushy,” the ward heeler said. “It's in their born nature. But old Kane's heart is in the right place, and he's a Democrat to the bone. Which reminds me, Missus. You are a Democrat, aren't you?”
Like most of the poor of the Depression era, my mother idolized President Roosevelt, and would be a Democrat for the rest of her life, so the ward heeler didn't have to worry about that. In his smarmy, circumlocutory way, he made it clear without saying it in so many words that the help he was offering was from one good Democrat to another, and he shared with us the fact that 'the boys' always knew how everybody voted, though he was damned if he knew how they found out, crafty devils that they were. In the end, he wrote a little note on the back of a form my mother had filled out the day before (we later wondered how it had ended up in his hands) and he told us that our case would be processed by the end of the month, when we would receive our first welfare check. There would be no further appointments for my mother to keep, no papers to fill out, no queues to stand in, no documents to be shown. The power of the O'Conner political machine had swept all these inconveniences aside. But of course, we understood that that which had been so easily bestowed could be taken back without trace of its ever
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